Author's note : I suppose it's about time I had one of these...if only so people can get an idea of who's writing! As a general rule, I tend to write POV fics, with the exception of "Small Things," and this one tends towards the angsty in tone.
More so than any other fic, I'd really welcome feedback on this one. It deals with issues that I've limited experience of (sounds melodramatic, doesn't it?) and they're ones that can cause problems if they're not written properly.
Special thanks to Chaotic Serenity, beta reader and helping hand for this fic. (see footnote)
Big Brother
The morning had been one of Rattrap's more bizarre experiences. The fact that he was up before the sun was strange enough - insomnia was a relatively new experience to him. That he'd found an unconscious Nightscream sprawled across the table of their communal kitchen bordered on insanity. But it was the almighty crash from upstairs that had practically disabled his fuel pump. Especially when the crashing promptly relocated itself to the stairs, then the hall.
He ran, or, rather, wheeled, himself out of the kitchen to find Silverbolt - hair down, armour askew, hand over his face - scrabbling with the access panel to the door. Even more alarmingly, when the door opened, his friend collapsed through the the opening, landing sprawled on the floor. When Rattrap dragged his friend to kis knees (helping the much-taller Maximal to his feet was an impossibility), Silverbolt still kept his arm between his face and Rattrap's line of vision. In a rare moment of worry, and the realisation that something was VERY wrong with his former sparring partner, Rattrap seized his arm and dragged it down...
Silverbolt's face was stained with mech fluid - the silvery blood oozed thickly down his jaw. The wound in itself was cause for concern, as, in Rattrap's experience, no mere scratch bled like that. But more unnervingly...Tears marred the condor's features as he met his friend's astonished eyes. The golden spark in his chest was reduced to a mere glimmer. He hung his head once more as Nightscream appeared, bleary eyed, from the kitchen.
Rattrap was stunned...then gathered his wits enough to yell at Nightscream.
"Kid, I don't care howtired you are, get the slaggin' medic!"
Later on, he'd reflect that it wasn't fair to rip the kid's head off - he'd only just woken up, after all, and wasn't even close enough to see the mess Silverbolt was in. However, at that moment in time, yelling worked. That was all that mattered to Rattrap. True enough, calling in a medic for a flesh wound and a crying fit could, perhaps, be classed as overkill, but he was in no mood to take chances.
It's painful to see a friend hurt. When said friend has already been through the wringer numerous times, it kills you.
It's often been said that men don't form close friendships, that this is a female domain.
Wrong.
Different doesn't mean better or worse. Men do not, as a general rule, hold sleepovers or do each others hair. The form of friendship may centre more around banter or laughter than heart to heart, but still...
Since Dinobot's death, Silverbolt had been Rattrap's best friend. He'd never replace the raptor...although, Rattrap reflected, Silverbolt's behaviour of late had brought about an odd sense of deja vu. The fuzor had been easy to like. Clueless, gentle, honourable...the kind of 'bot you loved or hated on sight.
If Rattrap was to be completely honest with himself, he found himself admitting that, along with his distaste for Predacons, his early grudge against Blackarachnia may have had just a little to do with the monopoly she had of his friend's time. Love has a nasty little habit of splitting up friendships upon occassion, and that was a fact that Rattrap was VERY aware of - especially after the catalogue of events that made up his life.
Now Silverbolt was down for the count. In the Beast Wars, the solution as far as the rat was concerned was simple - lynch that double crossing she-devil of a spider.
But now...
Now Rattrap had a foot (er, wheel) in both camps. Silverbolt was a sad echo of himself, miserable and brooding. Come to think of it, he actually hadn't strayed far from his quarters for a few days now, and Rattrap couldn't remember if he'd eaten at all recently. And yet...hadn't Silverbolt brought this on his own head? He'd systematically ignored, snubbed and even berated the female Transformer, why should she put up with it?
Well, Silverbolt had once put up with it. The saying "love hurts" had applied a little too literally to their stormy relationship. And yet, there had been something different about her brand of scathing put down. She'd been complaining for the sake of complaining. No-one with his optics online had been unable to see that her affection was genuine, for all her remarks. Silverbolt's comments had cut her deeper than she could have ever cut him.
Blackarachnia herself wasn't much better off than her paramour. Rattrap knew that the couple had had problems, but he was unaware of the hell that broke loose prior to Blackarachnia's departure...
"Whaddya mean, they fought?!
Nightscream looked tiredly at the rodent, wondering which one of them needed to wake up more.
"Silverbolt had just delivered a seriously bitchy remark and she snapped. Went absolutely schizo. She called Silverbolt every name in the book, told him she'd've been better off screwing some guy called Tarantulas - don't ask me what that's about, because I've got no idea - and stormed off like a small typhoon. No-one dared say anything."
Rattrap groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Primus, no wonder he freaked."
"Why?"
"That was just about the lowest hit you could make, s'far as 'Bolt's concerned."
"You're not making sense..."
Rattrap sighed. "Tarantulas effectively created Blackarachnia. Reprogrammed her protoform into a Pred." Rattrap allowed a grin to flash across his face. "If he hadn't, the Transformer Blackarachnia have been a fragile little flower...Then again," he considered, "maybe not. Can't hold that entirely responsible for the fact she's a loon."
"And this has what to do with her and Mr Broodsalot in there?"
More deja vu, Rattrap thought, but his own variation on Lancelot had been much funnier. And made more sense.
"Tarantulas had a...thing for Legs. See, 'Bolt only came into it later. Before dat, she and Chuckles were pretty much taken to be an item."
Nightscream stared at Rattrap with the incredulous look of a teenager who's been informed his parents still make out. "She had a boyfriend before Silverbolt?"
"Never said that. Said that was how it seemed. But somethin' weird happened and she wouldn't go near him no more. That's when 'Bolt showed up and swept her off her feet. De rest is history."
"So..?"
"So what she was sayin' was "I'd've been better off with my psychotic ex than with you and your whining."
Nightscream winced. "Ouch."
Rattrap looked out the window."It's downright insane they had an argument to start with - even when she was a Predacon, I ain't never seen those two have anythin' more than the odd bicker. What I want to know is, why break down now? It's been three weeks since that."
"He never said anything..."
That would make sense, Rattrap thought. No-one knew that the condor just wasn't coping. If they had...well, this morning wouldn't have happened. The higher you fly, the harder you fall, and for someone like Silverbolt, who had enjoyed a bond with his mate that few could match, he had been destroyed on impact with the ground.
He attention was suddenly drawn by Nightscream. The teenager hovered nervously around the door to Silverbolt's quarters. He'd been there since he and Rattrap were banished by the medic.
"Hey, kid, what's eatin' ya?"
Nightscream looked back at Rattrap, shuffling his feet nervously. "Rattrap...you think they'll be okay?"
Well, ain't that the question on everyone's lips. "In what way d'you mean 'okay'?"
"Well...any way."
The older robot sighed, and gestured for Nightscream to sit down - he was wearing holes in the carpet. "Kid, I have no idea. Ya may not know Blackarachnia the Pred, but you musta guessed she's not someone you screw around with. Lady with one hell of a temper. And as for the Featherduster," he tilted his head towards the door, "from just a personal viewpoint? She don't come back...or come back with someone else...we're gonna be wiping him off the floor."
He looked at Nightscream sidelong. "Seem awfully concerned. Ya a romantic or somethin'? Never had you down for the type..."
"No!" Nightscream squawked. "S'just..." He seemed to debate on whether to continue, and sighed. "They...I like them. They look out for me."
That made the rat look up. Then he smiled. "Silverbolt's just naturally the big brother type, whether he's a whiny slagheap or not. Bet he'da made the model father too. I useta tease him dat any kid of his woulda been spoilt rotten." He rolled his eyes. "Blackarachnia however...probably not to keen on the whole theory."
He'd meant it as a joke, but Nightscream just seemed to get even more upset. "Now what's wrong?"
"It's nothing. It's just...silly. Stupid."
"Kid, tell me before I throttle you."
Wondering how in the world Rattrap could strangle him if he couldn't reach his neck, Nightscream none the less complied.
"I feel outta place. You guys have all known each other way back. I'm the rookie. I'm the odd one out."
That at least, made an appeal to Rattrap's sense of sympathy. "Kid...Nightscream, we all..."
Whatever sensitive comment Rattrap was about to make was interrupted by the door sliding open to reveal the medic, who charged ahead with his diagnosis.
"The wound's pretty deep, but it's not as bad as it seems. No obvious physical spark problems - we don't know much about these new technorganic bodies, but there's nothing to suggest illness or failure. It's possible that the state of mind could affect the body physically, especially as the spark is an indicator of mental and emotional stability." Pausing for breath, he looked briefly at the other two Transformers. "Is he under any particular stress? Does he tend to suffer emotional crises? Maybe have a history of self-harm?"
Rattrap glared. "Yes, maybe and no, definitely not. Dat all you can make of it?" He wondered if all medics had voiceboxes stuck on high speed.
The medic shrugged. "Nothing I can do, I'm not a counsellor. But watch him." The doctor seemed to gather his wits and calm down. "The worst danger to him right now is himself. Keep a close eye on him. If he gets any worse, give me a shout and I'll see about anti-depressants."
An urgent beeping on his comm badge summoned him to yet another patient. With a curt nod to the bat and the rat, he hurried off down the corridor.
Rattrap sighed. What did the medic care about Silverbolt? Just another patient to prescribe drugs to and forget about. He should have known better than to expect any concern for one of Cybertron's heroes.
He turned to Nightscream. "C'mon. Let's see if Feathers feels like a chat."
During the Beast Wars, Silverbolt's quarters had probably been the most "personal." There were holograms of the Maximal group, holograms of particularly stunning landscapes he'd decided to record, and, of course, ones of his lady, Blackarachnia. There were various precious stones cluttering the worktops - as a half-canine, digging was second nature - and various plants scattered around the shelves. Files had lain on the desk and, not being a particularly neat Maximal, occassionally on the floor as well.
By comparison, his new habitat looked like an operating theatre. The metal surfaces gleamed, free from clutter. The few files he did have were stacked in a corner of one desk, only one straying to the bedside table - Silverbolt, unlike Rattrap, was prone to insomnia, and read to pass the time. Of course, at one time in his life, reading had been the last thing on his mind...
The recharge bed was standard issue, and Silverbolt lay with his back towards his friends, obviously not wanting company.
Well, that's just tough.
"Hey, 'Bolt-boy. What the slag's all this about?"
A moment of silence.
"'Bolt, don't talk to us and you talk to one of dose slagwit therapists. What's wrong?"
Nightscream wondered if there was a record for the number of times the word "slag" had been used in one conversation, but his thoughts were interrupted by Silverbolt's resigned sigh.
"What do you think?"
Sitting up, it was clear the medic had done a neat job on the face wound - no tell-tale mech fluid remained, only a thin mark that would heal in time. Transformers had a high capacity for damage, yet their medicine was the most advanced in that corner of the galaxy. Rattrap was glad to see that the old tools worked with the new bodies.
Whether said body was in possession of an equally sound mind, however, was cause for concern.
"Ya slashed your own face 'cause you and yer girl got into a fight? We all did that, the medics would be workin' four week shifts!"
Silverbolt looked blankly at Rattrap...the realised what he was implying. "Oh, this?" he responded, moving his hand to his cheek. "I didn't do that. I tripped and scratched myself off of something. I didn't even notice it was bleeding until I reached the door."
"Yeah right! Ya didn't realize half yer face was missing?!"
"Honestly. Look." He pointed to the sharp edged desktop. Sure enough, traces of robotic blood clung to the surface and splashed on the floor. "I'm not completely out of my wits."
"Looked that way when we were dragging you up here," Nightscream objected suddenly. "You should have seen yourself, Silverbolt."
The samurai glared at him. "All I want is to be left in peace. Is that too much to ask?"
There was a flurry, and the next thing Silverbolt knew he was flat on the floor, and Rattrap was dusting off his hands.
"Rattrap, I don't think maiming him is going to help..."
"Listen, ya mutt. I've known you since ya were a dizzy rookie with a crush on the most dangerous female on the planet, so cut it out."
This was a learning experience for Nightscream. He'd assumed that Silverbolt was one of the oldest of the crew, despite Rattrap's comment about where he had entered the Beast Wars, but apparently not...
Silverbolt twisted his head to look - or rather, glare - at Rattrap, before hauling himself into a sitting position.
"And what would you have me do, O Oracle of All Matters?" he snarled. "In case you haven't noticed, I'M here, she's as far away as possible and there doesn't seem to be a hope of things returning to any semblance of what they used to be!"
Nightscream took a step back, but the target of the verbal abuse remained unfazed.
"You keep that up, and she ain't gonna have a boyfriend to come back to," Rattrap informed his scowling comrade. "Prime's sake, 'Bolt, that medic thought ya'd tried to top yerself!" A bit of an exaggeration, Rattrap thought, self-harm seemed to have been the medic's main concern. But then again, he had hinted at what such behavoiur could indicate...
"With a cut to the cheek? Hardly." The anger seemed to leave him. He drew his legs up to his chest, looking so bizarrely childlike that even Rattrap looked concerned. "And even if I did...who would have cared?"
Silence.
Silence which was, incidentally, broken by Rattrap.
"I've said it once, I'll say it again. Silverbolt, you're an idiot." He moved over to beside his friend. "You honestly think Legs wouldn't care if ya weren't around? And what about me and the kiddo over there. Think we wouldn't miss ya?"
"Are we referring to who I was or who I am?"
Hit the nail on the head, Rattrap admitted to himself.
"You're bein' stupid again. Same person. 'Cept now Lancelot's in a perennially bad mood."
Silverbolt's face twisted, and he looked down. It was a moment before his companions realised he'd spoken, his voice was so soft.
"Do you know the story of Lancelot and Guinevere?"
Nightscream looked enquiringly at Rattrap, who just shrugged.
"'Bolt, what the slag are you blabbering on about?"
"Lancelot destroyed himself and Guinevere..." was the murmered response. "He was always meant to be pure and good and chaste...but he never was. It was all an illusion. It was all a lie."
They hadn't been able to get any more out of him. Nightscream and Rattrap beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. They were initially surprised not to find anyone else there, but a quick inventory of the remaining members of the group made sense. Botannica was talking to the managers of the Cybertronian Science Corporation. Cheetor had obviously decided to go for a run to clear his head...something Rattrap failed to see the point of. It never seemed to work. Silverbolt was asleep, Blackarachnia was on the other side of the planet. Optimus was no more.
The small size of the group was eerie, especially to Rattrap. No matter how often he reminded himself how things had changed, he was always positive he'd missed someone.
In fact, he missed a lot of friends. Air Razor. Tigatron. Dinobot. Rhinox. Depth Charge to a certain extent. Optimus most definitely.
He'd never admit it, but he HATED change. He'd always sought stability, when destiny seemed to have other plans for him. His past was a patchwork of failure and success, of loss and gain, of friendship and betrayal.
He didn't like to think about it.
"He's not well."
Nightscream, of course, more than slightly dazed by the day's events.
"No slag, Sherlock. Can't see dere's much we can do."
More unnerving to Rattrap than Silverbolt's breakdown was the fact that he wasn't totally irrational. Rattrap had seen 'bots lose it. It happened to the best of them, from time to time. Had happened to him. Pressure, heartbreak, stress, overwork... And it was always during peace time too. Very few collapsed during a war or crisis. It was as if the adrenaline, the sense of duty and the routine kept them going - but the price had to be paid at some point. Somehow, body and spark always demanded time to regroup.
But Silverbolt wasn't like that. He hadn't collapsed completely, hadn't lost track of who he was - if anything, it was the fact he knew exactly what he was that was the problem - hadn't entirely "blanked out."
If he thought any more about it his CPU would explode. "Hey, kid. What were ya goin' on about earlier? And don't say 'nothin' ' unless you're tired of life."
"Am I one of you guys or am I just the annoying anklebiter?"
Rattrap grinned. "Kid, yer both."
"You're not helping." Nightscream scowled, which only made him look even more comical than ever."And you don't have ankles to bite. Seriously, Ratface, what do I do now? Go back to the academy and pretend nothing happened? Join the army like the military's practically ordered me to? Or stick around while Flyboy goes to pieces and the cat sulks?"
"Personally, I wouldn't say any o' 'dose..." Rattrap mused. "You don't wanna run around gettin' shot at fer the rest of yer days, do you?" Vigorous shake of the head. "Well, da military's out. How's school?"
"You sound like my mother," Nightscream grumbled. "It sucks. I look more of a freak than ever, and the 'bots who used to be my friends pretend they don't know I exist."
"Sour grapes," suggested Rattrap. "They owe their lives to you and to us. And no matter what anyone tells ya, no-one likes to be in anyone else's debt. Way they see it, they shoulda been th' heroes."
"Heroism sucks," was Nightscream's bitter reply.
"Amen t' that." Rattrap looked out the window...Time was dragging. He'd been up most of the night, had a hell of a fright in the morning and was now engaged in his least favourite activity - soul searching. He wanted his bed, but Cybertron's sun was high in the sky. Silverbolt's little episode had only taken up the morning, but it felt like days.
Outside, most of the Transformer population were going about their business. Normal people, not heroes, not villains, just ordinary people with ordinary lives.
Lucky buggers. Being nice and normal. Don't know how lucky ya are to be alive.
Silverbolt dozed uncomfortably. The air seemed to have developed a choking quality, smoky and oppressive. He couldn't sleep, but he was too exhausted to get up.
He'd never cried before.
Unlike their purely technological ancestors, Maximals and Predacons could, as a general rule, shed tears. It wasn't that he hadn't been able to cry...just never had a reason to.
That wasn't entirely correct. Transmutate's death had certainly been cause for grief, but he was so stunned by the series of events that, by the time it had sunk in, he was too busy to give much thought to tears. Blackarachnia...it hurt to think the name...her "death" had been worse for those minutes that he had indeed thought her gone. Once more, by the time rage and shock had worn off, there was no need for it - she was very much alive and well.
Rattrap's outburst could hardly be called unexpected. The rodent had bawled him out before - over Blackarachnia, over failing to nail a Predacon in battle, over his general naivete. This was the first time the outburst had been tinged with fear.
He twisted onto his side, his mind flatly refusing to shut down and give him peace. Internal conflict was no stranger to Silverbolt by now, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He dithered between seeking out Rattrap and talking, to getting the slag out of the building (which had been his intention before his nerves seemed to have failed him), to just lying there, brooding.
Doing nothing in itself isn't really a problem...it's when you feel unable to do anything that the worry starts. He quite simply couldn't be bothered with anything. What was the point? It wasn't going to make him feel better.
He shifted again, lying on his back, trying not to think. It wasn't working.
"No-one's kicking ya out, Nightscream."
If I get any more sincere, someone's going to start suspecting an imposter, thought Rattrap. There were too many issues flying around that just couldn't be laughed off. Not without getting the living daylights punched out of him, anyway.
"Maybe I just don't belong here," Nightscream sighed. "You all know how to deal with each other..."
"Hang on a minute kid, I'm as in the dark as you are just now!" Rattrap interrupted. "You ain't exactly at a disadvantage not knowin' what the Beast wars were like. 'Least ya saved yourself the confusion."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it's easier getting used to folks first time 'round than it is relearning what they've become when ya know that ain't exactly what dey're like." Rattrap shook his head. That made no sense. He tried again. "Th' psychoqueen goes soft, the kid gets an ego, Galahad goes cranky on us...Oh slag."
"Huh?" Nightscream was as clueless as always, but he was guessing that whatever enlighenment Rattrap had received, it wasn't good.
"Galahad...Lancelot, whatever. Silverbolt wasn't just blabbering when he was rantin' on about Guinevere."
"Look who's ranting! What in Cybertron's name are you on about, Ratface?"
"Bit of trivia for you. Lancelot - a knight from human mythology - ditched Guinevere - a queen, wife of Lance's best pal - at the one point they could have been happy together. Nothing before that had stopped them."
A pause.
"Where do you get this stuff???"
"Eh, I've been around the block."
" 'Bolt? You awake?"
They'd left him alone for a couple of hours more before checking on him once more. Rattrap supposed it probably wasn't healthy to leave him lying around moping for too long, but what else could they persuade him to do? He wasn't exactly in the mood for fun and games.
I'm not taking this seriously enough. If I did, I'd be panicking right about now.
A resigned grumble eventually answered them.
"I do not appear to have much choice in whether I'm asleep or not. You're going to talk anyway."
"Hey, don't take it out on us!" Nightscream protested. "You were a mess this morning. Can you blame us for worrying?"
Rattrap looked at the "rookie." He thinks it's over. He thinks it's just a glitch that's gonna be gone by tomorrow morning. It just doesn't work like that, Nightscream. Just cause it's not broadcasting itself don't mean it ain't there. It's been there for a while.
Silverbolt sat and faced them, reaching for the band that kept his "hair" constrained to its samurai ponytail. Hair, they'd quickly discovered, was generally a nuisance if not kept well out of the way.
"Gettin' up?"
"There doesn't seem to be much point in remaining. Besides" -a wry flicker of a smile crossed Silverbolt's face - "it's too easy for you to find me if I'm always here."
An urgent bleeping noise interrupted the conversation. Nightscream's communicator. Apparently, someone wanted to talk to him - badly. He winced.
"Three guesses who that is. Back in a minute guys." He left, shutting the door behind him.
There was a strange quiet after Nightscream's departure..until...
"What's become of us, old friend?"
Silverbolt's change in tone was as sudden as pain to Rattrap, as was the sorrowful look in his eyes. He turned to face the shattered Silverbolt, trying to work out what Silverbolt meant.
"We were heroes, Rattrap. We were comrades. No matter what happened, we got through. What went wrong?"
"Primus, 'Bolt... what can I tell ya dat you don't know already?" The older warrior debated on whether to go on, decided, and did so. "You know I'd do anythin' to just jump in a time machine and go back. Cheetor's still an idiot, you've still got yer psycho girlfriend, Rhinox sittin' at Sentinel, laughing at it all. You know how much I miss th' old days. But they're gone, Silverbolt. There's no goin' back."
"Thank you, Rattrap."
"For what?" The topic of conversation was moving like a pendulum, swinging back and forth so much Rattrap couldn't keep up.
"Putting up with me. Looking out for me."
That stunned Rattrap. "Now I know you're losing it. And anyway," he added more softly. "you're the sort that needs lookin' after. Someone wasn't keepin' an eye, you'd have fallen off a cliff while you were lookin' at the pretty flowers in the Beast Wars."
If only that was still the case."
Shaking his head, the elegant warrior walked out to the window, leaning against the wall.
"I could have gotten through this in the Beast Wars. I could have beaten it. Why do I feel like giving up? When I've got everything to lose by doing just that?"
"Because you know what you can do by now, Silverbolt. You know you've got a flipside. Jetstorm is th' absolute opposite of what ya are." He chuckled. Inappropriate as it was, he couldn't help himself. "Hate to say it, but you were right. Innocence lends protection."
"Don't I know it."
"Silverbolt...I ain't the one you should be talking this over with..." World's most useless statement, Rattrap berated himself. The one person he should be having this conversation with was miles away.
Silverbolt seemed not to have heard. "Rattrap? Do you think you can regain innocence?"
There was no point in pressing the condor any further. "Don't ask me, Feathers. Don't ask me, because I just don't know."
Listening at the door, Nightscream hesitated. He'd shut off the commander halfway through the "conversation" - probably better described as a contest of wills.
He had other things to do before he confronted the jerks at the Military Core.
Turning, Nightscream sped down the hall as noiselessly as he could.
Final notes.
Yes, I know, shut up FS. But there's a couple of footnotes it might be worth pointing out.
1) It's probably obvious, but this ties in with "Over" and "To My Guinevere." Although it's safe to say that "Over" is the first in the "series" that has formed, TMG could either precede this, or coincide with it. "Rookie" (Nightscream) and "Fight or Flee?" (Blackarachnia) -works in progress - should also precede this. Sadly, my mind isn't that logical.
2) The ankle quip is Chaotic Serenity's, who pointed out RT doesn't HAVE ankles to bite.
3) "Operating Theatre" - I'm told that this is Operating ROOM in the USA (and possibly everywhere else.) So, no, no tickets available.
4) There's some stretches of the imagination required here. Rattrap's not usually that open, Silverbolt (at least in BM) is usually more stoic, Nightscream is usually more annoying...But work with me. Story doesn't work if everyone's off in their own little world.
Thanks for reading!
FS